Angel's Heart
by Marcus1233
Summary: Medieval theme. Contains slash. Things turn foul in a deal with demons. Chris finds himself defending his home from the twice blessed. Defeated and captured. The question is, will he also lose his heart to the victor?
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: Since this is my first time venturing into the 'Charmed' fandom, I think I should give a word or two but nothing comes to mind. Hmm…what to say? Enjoy?

(sighs) Not exactly a winning conversationalist here.

Oh, special note to Teal-lover…if you ever came across this fic. Yeah, I think you would like to back-up and not read this fic…I haven't exactly decide the pairing but potentially it'll be slash…and I know how you dislike that…This goes to you who finds homosexuality unpleasant too.

(adds in bored voice) Flamers are also welcome. If you besmirch my story, that's fine and all, but do try to present evidence that my story suck...and that you actually read it.

This story is for me (always a priority) and to those whose fic I read. You can consider this as a repayment.

Disclaimer: I solemnly swear that 'Charmed' or any of its characters do not belong to me…they belong to their responsible parties...whoever they are.

By the way, this fic was inspired by 'Julie Garwood' and her book the prize.

Chapter 1

Christopher Perry stood in the morning shadows of the walkway atop the wall of his castle, eying the scene below him with two sets of stones nestling in his right hand. They were losing the battle. In another twenty minutes the castle would be breached. The shield around the fortress had already been broken down.

It was inevitable and Chris knew it. They were sorely outnumbered. Yes, it was inevitable, but damn it was maddening.

Nearly fifty yards away, two figures sat on their mounts, watching as their soldiers progressively tried to demolish his door. Both were blondes, but the bigger of the two caught Chris' attention. This was the fourth attempt the Haliwells sent their whelps to 'exact the Haliwell wrath' upon Chris' holding in the past week.

So, this was the mighty Wyatt, twice blessed child of the eldest Charmed One and white-lighter turned elder. From his position he was turning to be a curse for him.

His vision swept to next person. The boy was probably the same age as Chris. He was wearing a smile, no doubt, contemplating victory. Chris frowned in annoyance. He remembered the other boy. He was the first to come to the holding, raving mad and starting this entire fiasco.

Well, that wasn't exactly true, he thought wryly. Chris' brother, Cameron was the primary culprit...indirectly speaking. He was dealing out with demons as he normally has done in the past and he provided the demons with a poison. A poison with an antidote only his family has access to. He only made the mistake of making a deal with demons that were after the Charmed Ones, not that he knew of it.

Suffice to say, the demons attacked the Charmed Ones and got vanquished but not before poisoning two of the Charmed Ones and pointing out to Chris' direction to which Chris thought it was more due to the demon's stupidity and the lack of sensibility not to gloat rather than an answer forced by threat of torture. To make things worse, their land bordered the Haliwell's; it didn't take any time for one of them to come for 'justice'.

Chris remembered when the second child of the eldest Charmed One caused a commotion in his holding like a lunatic, demanding for Cameron and in the process interrupting Chris' visit to his younger brother, Colin. To his chagrin, his brother (luck always smiled on Cameron he supposed) was away on one of his long trips into other planes and it was up to Chris to manage his mess.

The other three had fought like children. Chris and his brother's men had managed to ward them off easily.

This one is different. He wouldn't be chase away. And the blonde even managed, to Chris' dismay shattered his shield (the thought that the blonde put quite some effort to accomplish the feat and had to recuperate afterwards soften the blow to his pride somewhat) whilst his predecessors could only put a dent on it. He was also more experienced in battle tactics. Chris' men falling back into the keep and were fast losing ground was a testimony to that.

Chris played with a couple of stones in his hand as he regarded the two figures that symbolised the destruction of his home.

The two were easy targets, especially the bigger of the two. The fact that the two were the ones responsible for bringing the army to his doorsteps and hurting all the people under his charge sweetened his concentration.

Aye, victory would be in the hands of the barbarians by the end of the day. Chris couldn't stop that from happening. He was realistic enough to admit that. But Chris would not go down without marking their leader, as a sort of reminder, to the heinous act being committed on that day.

But first, a little gift was in order for the other brother. One good push deserves another, Chris thought wryly as he threw one stone towards the smaller of the two Haliwells.

His victim was busily talking to his brother, probably gloating over their victory. With his telekinesis, his aim was true; hitting the boy right on the middle, toppling him head first into the deep water of the castle's moat. A second later, his brother was there, fishing him out while searching for the attacker. Chris quickly ducked to avoid discovery.

Chris peeked over to see a few seconds later. The twice bless was still eying for any forthcoming attacks, but after nothing happened he relaxed his stance. He even remove his own helmet, to wipe the sweat off his forehead, he probably thought it was a random fluke from the enemy side.

Now was his chance. Chris squeezes the rock tightly and began the chanting:

Hear my words; hear the plea in my rhymes;

Soar unseen in this rarest of times,

Fly true and hit that twice-blessed slime;

Only mark him for his heinous crime.

Chris held out his hand, the stone floated an inch above his palm, before pelting off. It sliced through the air, half whistling, half snarling into the air, seeking its target.

His prey was knocked off of his feet, the stone smacking right across his forehead. He was thrown backwards; landing a fair distance away. Chris hadn't meant to kill his adversary or else he would have aimed at the temple and wrought a different spell.

He didn't know why he did so. Killing the twice blessed child would have solved all Chris' problems, but he just decided to stun him. Maybe he was tired with all the killing. Yes, that must be why he did so. Chris shook his head to clear all the thoughts and proceeded to smile. By the gods, Wyatt Haliwell would wear that shameful mark for the remainder of his life.

Wyatt recovered quickly, sitting up. Blood trickled from a cut on his forehead, but strangely he didn't feel any pain. He prodded at his injury to discover that a chunk of his flesh was torn away.

The other blonde had come to his assistance, holding his palm above the cut. Wyatt felt the familiar warmth of healing and knew that his injury would be mended. However, the frown on his brother's face concerned him.

"What?" the twice blessed demanded gruffly.

The younger brother unsheathed his sword, flipping it to the side to act as a mirror for his brother to see. What he saw made him scowled as darkly as his brother, if not more. Where an unblemished healed skin was suppose to be, a long jagged scar was present.

His brother's healing prowess had always been perfect. Wyatt instantly suspected a spell.

He gazed to the top of the wall surrounding the holding. From the hit, he had deduced the direction from where the attack came from. Had his enemy really aimed at him from that spot? Surely the distance was too great, even for the best of archers. Wyatt can't even catch a glimpse of any shadowy figure. And if that was the case, his enemy had a great eye, because unless Wyatt was mistaken, the enemy had struck not once but twice.

But why didn't they just kill him and his brother. They could have succeeded if they use any other weapon. Wyatt shook his head. Maybe their attacker was playing with them. Aye, that must be it.

Fury coursed in his vein. By his mother, he would find the culprit and returned the favour back with equal measure.

The thought cheered him considerately.

Wyatt donned back his helmet.

He saw his men were throwing all sorts of magical strikes; fireballs, energy balls and the like. Their enemies happily returned the favour with their own powers.

It was time to end this.

A/N: I have no idea what you people think of this, but I certainly like it. Better than my last two fic…(blanches at the thought)

I certainly improved. If you find any mistake…although I'm sure you won't…Do tell me.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Is it just me or is Fanfiction getting whacked…? System wise I mean…I could've swear that it showed last week's page…

I knew I'm a bit late in updating. (shrugs) I'm a slow typist. And being a tad bit of a perfectionist isn't helping the matter, I kept checking and rechecking for any editing…good thing too, I found some mistakes in need of rectification.

Then there's also the launching of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows…of course I finished in one day…

Oh, not to mention I was chatting with a fellow author, BrianKrause. (chuckles) Sorry Bri.

For being so tardy, I made this chapter longer than the last. Have fun reading it. Again do point out if I have any errors in this chapter…

Oh, to those who want the romance…do calm down. I assure you there'll be one. In my opinion, love doesn't come that easily…so it's natural to wait it out.

Chapter 2

Ending it took twenty more minutes.

It was taking so long for them to conquer the holding, much too long to Wyatt's distaste.

Wyatt had just arrived back at his family holdings the day before. He was shocked to learn what had befallen his mother and Aunt Paige and angry with the rest of the family for not calling him sooner.

His father and remaining Aunt had worked and researched non-stop to produce a cure for the poison.

His brother and cousin had ample time to go after the ones responsible for the mess. Wyatt was appalled to learn of his brother's and cousins' defeat in their retaliation towards the Perrys.

From what he could gather from their encounter with the enemies the enemy holding was defended by the middle Perry and his whitelighter, courtesy of Chris and cohorts. The last bit of news came as a shock. The thought of a whitelighter leading a fight was unheard of, let alone one to be assigned to witches that lived with demons under one roof. Wyatt's father, Leo, had gone 'up' to ask for information from the other elders. It turned out that a whitelighter was assigned to the Perrys by an elder who died when the titans were unleashed.

The whitelighter was called back to be reassigned (they thought his presence with demon would jeopardise the greater good) but refused, cutting all contacts with the elders, saying his that the demons were...nice and that the Perry line needed a guide.

Whatever the case, Wyatt was determined to win this fight and capture the enemies and forced them to give the antidote to him.

Wyatt walked to the small rise of the holding, his brother and nine of his experienced men flanked his side. He held his hand up and a ball of electric blue crackled to life and threw it to one of Perry's soldier on the wall. The blow would have vanquished the soldier on the spot, but the energy ball just passed through, the man unharmed.

Perplexed, Wyatt threw two more shots and the same thing happened again. Wyatt repeated the procedure, this time targeting another only to achieve the same result, but not before catching the man flickering around the edges.

An illusion! The twice blessed child narrowed his eyes. He was made a fool twice now. He would find satisfaction in getting even.

Five of his men climbed the wall and proceeded to cut the ropes holding the bridge, lowering it. Sword drawn, Wyatt crossed the bridge, ready for any surprise attack, but none came. The lower bailey was deserted, as was the upper one. Even the images of the soldiers on the upper bailey had vanished.

Wyatt ordered his men to comb the entire area and discovered the castle ground was deserted. It was apparent that the soldiers had fled. He ordered his men to search for secret passageways and barricade them.

Wyatt cast out his senses, he could feel his men's signature around the grounds but he found that he couldn't go further into the keep; a ward was placed around it. Two foreign presences tugged at his senses. One he was familiar with, and that made a scowl form on his face.

Wyatt took two strides toward his mount. Hands on his hips, Wyatt stared on the ground before him. If what he was doing seemed peculiar, his men didn't seemed faze by all of it.

"Paul Nathan Haliwell," Wyatt began in a stern voice, "I know you're there young man. So you can drop your invisibility now."

The twice blessed just stood there waiting.

The air wavered to reveal a grubby four year old boy with a mopey brown hair and hazel eyes. The boy was squirming and fidgeting under the gaze of the older Haliwell.

Phillip Haliwell ran to stand beside Wyatt, gawking at the new 'arrival'.

"What the hell are you doing here, Paul?" The hot tempered blonde hollered.

The boy flinched. Wyatt gave Phillip a glare.

"Phillip. Shut up," he reprimanded. "Shouting at the boy isn't helping any."

"I just wanna help," Paul answered solemnly.

"I take it Aunt Phoebe didn't know you are missing," Wyatt sighed.

"I'm sowie." Paul wasn't sure why he was apologising. He only wanted to help.

"How'd you get here?"

"I followed you here on Argen," he replied suddenly excited. "I can turn him invi-inbisi…I can make him disappear too. See?" He pointed excitedly to the empty air besides him.

He waved his hands and a pony appeared.

Wyatt had to inhale deep gulps of air to squelch the rising anger. Philip held no such reservation and exploded. The child was soon reduced to tears, wailing 'I'm sowie'. Wyatt glared at his tactless brother who stopped his ranting, but a scowl still carved on his face.

He didn't need this family drama, not when he was only half done with his duties. Wyatt only needed to capture the elusive Perry and his whitelighter.

"Paul, listen to me. Look at me," Wyatt sighed to the wailing brunette. "We are not mad at you."

The little boy shook his head, unconvinced. "No, you are mad at me. That's why Phillip is shouting," blubbered the four years old. Wyatt sent another glare at Phillip, who shrugged noncommittally before dropping down beside his brother with a sigh.

"We really aren't mad at you, Paul." He assured Paul in a calm voice, and then continued with a grin tugged on his face. "We are only angry because you could've gotten hurt. Where would Wyatt and I if our favourite little brother got hurt, huh?"

"But I'm you only little brother. How can you have a favourite little brother?" the boy chirped, perplexed. "Do I have another little brother?"

"'Course not, that's why we'll be sad if you got hurt."

Convinced they weren't mad at him, the little boy smiled.

Wyatt picked him up. "Don't think you have escaped your punishment, young man. We'll talk more later. For now," Wyatt gave him a good swat on his backside and placed him atop of his mount, "You stay here and contemplate on what you did wrong, do you understand me?"

Paul didn't know what the word 'contemplate' meant but he just nodded to placate his brother.

Now, to take care of another business. Wyatt's attention turned to mountain of crates beside a hut, but saw no one. He walked purposely to the pile of crates, his intent obvious.

He could feel the anxiety exuded by his prey and for brief moment saw the air trembled above the crates. Wyatt smiled; a tell-tale sign he sent to his prey saying that he knew.

Anxiety turned to panic and the invisible presence wavered into existence, running desperately in the direction of the keep's door.

She didn't get far as one of Wyatt's men caught her by the waist. She was brought to Wyatt, struggling and kicking something fierce. The spy, was a tiny young girl, barely looking the age of four, with thick lustrous wavy red hair

"Ge' off me," she spat, followed by a string of curses that had Paul coughing. Dear god, his mama would faint if she heard any of it.

"You!" Wyatt's brother, Phillip Haliwell cried out in recognition.

"And ye." The girl returned in a thick Scottish burr. "I dinna ken ye was stupid enough tae return after the beating ye took last time. I see that ye already took the arrow oot o' ye buttocks."

Phillip's face was red with fury with the mention of his humiliation. He took a step forward to the little girl.

Wyatt blocked his way, his gaze fully directed to his brother. "Are you so simple-minded that a mere child can rile you so easily, Phillip? You do not show strength when you mistreat a child."

His brother was properly humiliated, his head hung low as he retreat a step backward.

The little red-head bit into the hand of his captive, eliciting a pained shout and a curse. The girl fell onto the ground and ran to Wyatt's side. She was feeling quite proud with herself; she wasn't afraid in facing the bad man who terrorised her home the week before.

An eyebrow arched, Wyatt scrutinised the little girl in amusement, amazed at how trusting the girl was. To see the little girl taunting his brother was also entertaining. The gall little children have.

"Do you know this girl, Phillip?" the twice-blessed child questioned.

"Course he recognized me. I bit him on the thighs last week," the child answered for the blonde. "Then he bloody boxed me ears and I went flying to the wall, I did. Knocked the wind out o' me, I can tell ye that."

"He did, did he?" Wyatt asked dangerously.

"It was reflex," Phillip stuttered.

"I'll deal with you later," Wyatt promised, then squatted down to the little girl. "What's your name, child?"

"Taylor," was the timid answer.

Little Taylor hadn't looked up to see Wyatt until then, busy as she was with focusing her attention to Wyatt's brother earlier. Now that she had, she was sorry indeed. He was a handsome devil.

The sudden change in the little imp surprised Wyatt.

"What's your full name?" Wyatt coaxed.

"It's Taylor Pe…"She stopped herself in time. Taylor covered her mouth with her puny little hands and shook her head vigorously. "Och, I almost forgot. I canna tell ye that."

"Oh, and why is that?" Wyatt asked.

"Unc…" Taylor stopped herself short. She almost called Chris her uncle. She remembered Chris forbade her to call him Uncle if she ever got caught by the Haliwells or their soldiers. She didn't know why she had to do that, but she always had done what Chris told her to do…at least she tried to do everything he said. Thank god, she had the right mind to stop while she was ahead. She beamed, proud of this accomplishment.

"Chris said no' to tell anything to the damn Haliwells," she said quite authoratively. "Chris told me I shouldna want to talk to any damn Haliwells either."

"Wyatt, am I damn Haliwell?" Paul asked beside Wyatt suddenly. He had slid down to the ground and scuttled toward them earlier.

"No, you most certainly are not. What are you doing here? I thought I told you to stay on my horse."

"You did." The boy shrugged. "I was bored."

Paul didn't have the faintest idea what the word contemplate meant, so he decided it was a waste of time to stay on the horse. Besides, the girl looked interesting. Maybe they could be friends.

"Am I one?" the girl asked, worried.

"You are not a Haliwell," Wyatt explained patiently.

"That man," Taylor pointed to the one who caught her, "Said that I was a demon. Am I damn demon?"

Wyatt was clearly exasperated. "Nobody is damn anything," He started to say more but laughed instead. "I have to be careful on what I say infront of younglings next time.

You shouldn't be using such bad languages young lady," Wyatt admonished Taylor. "I don't suppose your mother would like it."

Taylor shrugged. "Dinna have one. Papa said she went off and kicked the bucket and landed herself a spot in heaven."

"Isn't that pitiful, Wyatt? She kicked a bucket for no apparent reason and died," Paul was the picture of innocence. To Taylor, he asked, "How did she die?"

"I dinna know. She just got tuckered oot."

Wyatt sighed. "Paul, I need you to be quite for a while. I want to ask some questions to our little friend here."

Paul nodded.

"How old are you Taylor?"

"Five," she answered but held out four fingers.

"That's four, Taylor. You have to splay out all your fingers to get a five." Paul exclaimed indignantly. "I know because I'm four. I'm four aren't I, Wyatt?"

"Yes, you are." Wyatt agreed. "What Paul said is true, that's a four,"

"I'm five," Taylor said again, this time with a challenging tone.

"Very well, you're five," Wyatt placaed.

"But Wyatt…" the small brunette whined loudly.

Wyatt rolled his eyes heavenward, time to tactfully change the subject. "You have the prettiest blue I've ever seen, Taylor."

The little girl blushed. Even though he didn't smile, Wyatt's eyes crinkled with humour.

"What about me, Wyatt? Mama said my eyes are beautiful" Paul piped in, not to be outdone.

"Yes. Yes. You have the prettiest brown eyes I've ever seen too."

Appeased, the boy's chest puffed up proudly, certain of his own worth. He tugged at Wyatt's side and threw his hands upwards. Wyatt picked him up.

Watching this, Taylor imitated the same act. Wyatt did the same thing to her too.

Wyatt gave a chuckle. "You aren't scared of me, are you, Taylor? Why is that?"

"Because ye're doughty." She blushed. "Aye, ye are. Chris would like ye too."

"Who is this Chris?" Wyatt asked. "You kept saying his name. Is it someone you like?"

Remembering her 'pretend' game with Chris, she answered, "Chris is our whitelighter."

Wyatt's eyebrow arched with interest. He glanced at Phillip, who frowned, remembering his last encounter with Chris. So, the elusive whitelighter's name was Chris.

"Taylor, I need you to tell me something. Do you know where Chris is?"

Taylor nodded. "He's inside."

Wyatt's heart skipped a beat. Finally, he was going to meet the man of legend; the whitelighter who led the Perrys' army to thwart three attempts of the Charmed Ones progenies. He surprised himself with the interest to meet the whitelighter. But then again, there was hardly anyone who could boast of defeating a 'Charmed' advances…let alone three times. Why, even Wyatt had some difficulties in this battle.

So, the whitelighter had stayed behind. Was the man daft? Was he so sure that he would he unharmed because he was a whitelighter? Even if he had not actually fought and killed anyone in the battle, he did beat up Phillip a week ago. And Wyatt didn't think that Phillip would forget so soon. Of course Wyatt wouldn't let Phillip beat him to a bloody pulp.

Wyatt's mind was full of questions but no answers seemed to be forthcoming.

"What were you doing outside the castle, Taylor?" A questioned that nagged Wyatt earlier popped back.

"I want tae see what ye Haliwells looked like."

"Your papa must be worried by now. Is your papa here?"

Taylor shook her head. "He's away for business. In another dimen-die men…"

"In another dimension, you mean."

"Yes, in a diamond shell."

Wyatt's mind reeled with that new piece of information. They had the eldest Perry's daughter in their hands!

He looked again at the tiny little in his arms. This was Taylor Perry. No wonder she refused to tell her full name before. It was to protect her. But why had she stayed behind? Then Wyatt remembered the cold winter season. He had also rendered travelling through magical means useless for miles out since the beginning of the battle. Taylor won't last long on a horse in the cold. That must be the reason.

Wyatt would not tell anyone of this bit of news. He did not want to drag a small child into the fray. However, if the situation worsened, the child could stop all of this…yes, Wyatt would only use the child as a last resort.

He set both children down. He would deal with this later. Now, he had a meeting with a certain whitelighter.

He sauntered to the castle's archway. Aye, he would meet Chris and get his answers.

"Wyatt…?" Paul began.

"Yes?"

"Can I keep Taylor?"

"For the love of…"

A/N: So how'd you people find this chapter? I can't wait for the boys' first meeting. I find that I'm getting jumpy. Aren't you?


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note: It's been a long time since I last update, huh? I've got some bad news and some good news. Which do you prefer first?

I'll decide for you people then. The good news: I've finished the chapter where the boys meet for the first time. A nice chapter, if I may add.

The bad news (depending on your own perspective), I won't be posting it as the third chapter…or the fourth either. Some people had complained about getting confused of what exactly is going on in Chapter one and two (e.g. why are they playing the 'pretend' game and whatnots). So basically, Chapter 3 and 4 tells what had happened before Wyatt came storming in the holding.

I know some…most…or even all of you were waiting for the boys encounter but I can't just leave some loose ends in the story…So, here goes…

By the by, this chapter is longer than the first two. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Do I have to do this again? If I owned 'Charmed' you'd never even know of them, especially Chris. I'd keep them lock all to myself. I'm quite possessive. (chuckles)

Chapter 3

Five days before…

Chris Perry scrunched his nose in distaste as he surveyed his appearance in the mirror. To put it simply, the robe was an eyesore. Thank the 'Powers that Be' that it has a hood. Then he wouldn't have to worry about anyone recognizing him.

Chris wouldn't have minded the seemingly endless length of sleeves. Hell, he wouldn't have complained about the fact that the lower part of the robe seemed to be domed shaped. Chris frowned at the notion of having the cage-like structure that gave the robe its shape and leaving plenty of empty spaces in between, bobbing back and forth as he walked.

No, none of those would bother him much. It was the damn colours that irked him. It seemed that every bright colour was covering his whole body. Chris could've sworn that the robe became incessantly, increasingly and annoyingly (A/N: Who knows this quote?) bright every time he visited his younger brother. Chris finally found himself to be a new fan of the colour black. Under normal circumstances he would have torn the robe off him and destroy the robe in any possible way (he had more than a few creative ways too) but he couldn't do it. Not if he wanted to see Colin.

Every visitor must wear the robes if they were to visit the ills. Secretly Chris surmised that the 'Keepers' derived some sort of sadistic pleasure out of this ridiculous arrangement...they certainly weren't wearing the same garbs and their eyes twinkle with merriment when they handed the robe to him.

But if it meant seeing Colin, he would not hesitate to wear the hideous contraption...he would even gladly wear the damn thing and parade around for all to see. He was about to be rewarded for his selfless deed with the sight of his brother but only to be interrupted by shoutings coming from behind him.

"Master Chris!"

Recognising the owner of the voice he muttered an expletive. He turned around to face a red-headed boy a few years Chris' junior, running towards him with a pack of the Keepers' acolytes hot on his tail shouting 'Halt!' and couple of 'Stop him!'.

Justin O'Neil had never been much of a sprinter. In fact, he never ran as far a 20 metre stretch in his entire life. So, it never came to a surprise to Chris when the Keepers' acolytes managed to catch up with the young man and pinned him to the floor. The boy struggled in the acolytes' hold.

"Let go of me!"

"You are not allowed to be in these halls. Only those who are in need to see the ill may enter," said one of the acolytes.

"Let go of me!" the boy raved again. "I need to speak with my master. He's here! It's an emergency!"

"Be that as it may, you are not..."

"Release him," Chris said as he strode over to struggling group. He had said it softly but the acolytes jumped back, surprised with the venomous tone. Chris allowed the Keepers to ridicule him with the robe but he would certainly not let their minions manhandle one of his brother's men.

"But my Lord, he cannot be in here..." another acolyte squeaked.

"I thought I told everyone not to disturb me while during my visitations to my brother." Chris said, ignoring the acolyte, turning his gaze on the youth.

The other boy was too busy staring at Chris (or rather his robe) to notice his mouth gaping down and Chris's voice.

"What is this big emergency that made you barged with this entire racket only to cut my visitation short even before I reached Colin's side?" Chris demanded.

Justin was intent to just stare stupidly at him.

"What is the meaning of this?" a voice called. It was a 'Keeper' and the creature glided noiselessly forward.

Chris rolled his eyes heavenwards in vexation. 'Oh great! Here comes the cavalry,' he thought.

The acolytes looked ready to weep. They started to converse swiftly in a different language as their master came nearer. Even though, Chris didn't understood what was said, he had the distinct feeling that it wasn't exactly nice.

After the acolytes were done complaining, the 'Keeper' turned toward Justin, who was still busy transfixed, eying Chris, much to Chris' chagrin.

"You must leave at once!" the 'Keeper' boomed at the gawping boy.

"I appreciate it that you do not take that tone to my man." Chris said icily.

The 'Keeper' did the same thing as his acolytes but in a more dignified way. Instead of jumping back in surprise, he only took a step back at the bite of Chris' tone. "But my lord, he has no business to be running around in this keep."

"Yes, he does. He came here bearing news for me."

"But his attire! He can't come here and not wear the visitation robes..." the 'Keeper' protested in a curt tone.

"Obviously, he came to report to me. Not visit the sick."

"This is outrageous. This is our Keep..."

"As long as the Keep still stands on my family's land. It falls as mine." Chris arches an eyebrow, daring the 'Keeper' to challenge that claim.

"Well –I..."

"Enough," Chris waved his hand to silence the creature. "Leave us."

"I- Very well. Come," the 'Keeper' directed his minions to follow him.

Chris turned to the other matter at hand.

"Justin, I thought I told all of you not to disturb me when I'm visiting Colin," he said crisply to the other boy. When Justin was still stuck on the fact that he was wearing the robe, Chris sighed before sarcastically adding, "Yes, I'm wearing this stupid get up as a hobby. Close your mouth before I conjure a fly for it to zip into your mouth."

The boy shook his head out of the stupor. But he still looked dazed.

"Now, what was so important that made me so rude to one of the people who could possibly save the life of my brother?"

The boy's eyes widened as he remembered the reason why he was there.

"Master Chris!"

"How many times do I have to tell you people not to call me...?"

"The castle's under siege!"

"What?!" Chris shouted. Without explaining any further, Justin grabbed Chris. Chris felt the familiar cool tug of 'shimmering' as their bodies distorted into a wavering mass before they disappeared to the castle.

Chris was greeted with the sight of his men getting whipped by a teen no older than Chris himself yelling for his 'coward' of a brother to come out. Chris assessed the 'unwelcomed guest'. He was a fit looking male with blonde hair that practically begged to be combed and hazel eyes that were currently blood-shot. He was muscled but not bulky. He looked around madly, calling Cameron's name and demanding to show up before him. He really looked crazed and wild.

"Great! Don't tell me another one of Cameron's toy is on a rampage." Chris muttered to himself before calling out aloud to gain the boy's attention. "Hey, Blondie!"

Every eye swivelled towards Chris. And they proceeded to winced at the colour.

"What the hell are you suppose to be, a miniature circus tent?" Blondie arched an eyebrow.

"I see that you've made a ruckus of my house and beat the hell out of my people," Chris surveyed his home, before continuing dryly. "Why am I not surprise that you'd insult me too?"

"You're people?" Blondie spat in disgust, eying the people present in the room. "These sorry excuses for creatures...these demons, are your people?

"They're not full-fledge demons," Chris said defensively. "And so what if they are? They're not bad. Who are you to judge them?"

"Are you Cameron Perry?" the boy growled, ignoring what the other had to say.

"And if I am?" Chris asked challengingly. "What are you going to…oof!" Chris's cut question was answered with a 'Bastard!' and he felt his body soaring backwards, the back of his head meeting the wall behind him and Chris swore he saw stars.

There were yells of outrage from every side. Some came to Chris' aid, while others decided to rain attacks on the blonde instigator.

Swaying slightly he tried sitting up, slapping any hands that tried to help him. Damn it, he wasn't a child. He reached out to his throbbing temples, trying to still the spinning world. He shook his head to rid of the pain and haze that had settled in. For a minute or two, he completely forgot where he was.

He saw the stranger telekinetically throwing his men away like ragged dolls who were so enraged that they attacked the boy without taking any cautionary steps to use their own powers.

Chris pushed the pain aside and concentrated onto the threat at hand. Fury aided him. He watched Cameron's daughter, Taylor, a little half-breed that scampered daily onto his lap to hear stories, threw herself onto the wild man's thigh and held on tight. The blonde tried to shake the kid off, but the little tyke was determined to stay.

"Get off of me, you filthy little...aaaahhh!" he howled as Taylor bit into his flesh. He pried the child's hand away and back-handed the girl. The strength in the impact sent the poor girl into a corner, where she stayed motionless.

Justin could have sworn that the entire realm could hear Chris' roar. Chris was radiating with anger and it was focused on the blonde abuser. For a fleeting second, the red-headed youth almost felt sorry for the intruder.

Chris swung his hand upward in a great arc, his upper body twisting with the force. Blondie sailed into one of the castle's beam and came crashing face-first on the ground.

"Coward!" Chris hissed. "She was only a child."

Using the beam he had just crashed into, the blonde boy shakily got up onto his feet. He spat out blood and a tooth to the ground.

"You broke my tooth!" he said, stunned, but anger quickly resurfaced. "Bastard! You'll pay for this." He held out his hand, forming an energy ball before lashing it out to Chris.

Chris didn't even blink as he stopped the energy ball inches away from his face and safely extinguishing it with a clench of his fist, eliciting a scandalised look from the other boy.

"You just hurt my little niece, an innocent child, and that's all you can think off? Your broken tooth?

Did I break your perfect set of teeth? Don't worry too much." Chris sneered. "You'll get over it because I'm going to break every bone in your body."

Chris flung his arms again and again, sending the blonde flying across the hall back and forth. Every spectator was awed, watching in silence at Chris' wrath. Never before had they seen Chris in such a rage.

"Don't you ever dare to lay a hand on ANY child, ever again! No matter what the reason. Do you understand me?" Chris roared, accentuating each one with wild gestures of his hands, jerking the offending blonde in every direction, never failing to hit him into any obstacle, whether it be a chair, a piece of armour or the table.

Chris heard a small cry beside him, piercing through his mind. It was Taylor, and she was tugging insistently onto his robe.

The sight of little girl registered inside his brain, bringing him back into reality. As a final thought, he flicked his wrist, sending the blonde into a crumpling mess on the ground.

He crouched down; surprisingly the lower part of his robe folded inwards to allow this, and scooped the little girl into a tight embrace.

"Dinna be so angry Uncle Chrissy. I wasna hurt much. I dinna like i' if ye're mad!" she told him. Hearing the Scottish burr that she got from her mother sent a relief into Chris. He never wanted to let the girl go, fearing that it was not real. "Och! Ye can le' go now. I canna breathe properly. I'm fine, ye ken."

Chris held her at arms length. "Why in the devil's name had possessed you to do such a stupid thing like that?"

"I dinna like the bad man hurting ye." Taylor shrugged.

"You could have gotten seriously hurt!"

"Och! Ye're such a worrywart."

"You could have been killed," Chris continued, oblivious to the little girl's words. "You look pale. Are you alright? You look ready to swoon."

"I'm a Perry. We dinna do swooning."

The way her Uncle was prattling on, she would've thought that she had contracted some fatal disease and was going to tucker up and die. Honestly, the man acted more like a mother hen than the entire women in the castle put together. But then again, her head was throbbing something fierce.

Taylor grimaced. Why was her Uncle swaying like that all of the sudden. She demanded that he stopped the action at once.

"Hell!" She muttered the word her papa had usually used when he was vexed, whatever it meant. "I think I'm going tae swoon after all."

It was a good thing Chris had his arms around her because she collapsed soon after stating her intention.

Everything was thrown into new pandemonium. Everyone was in frenzy and Chris yelled 'Marcus' on top of his lungs non-stop.

Thousands of tiny blue orbs with an outline of a man's upper body followed by the familiar humming of 'Orbing' descended in down through the air like a swarm of dancing blue embers. Seconds later, the orbs diminished into the small figure of a man.

From his appearance, it was obvious he was not one born from around that land. No, his slick midnight black hair and great obsidian eyes denoted an eastern lineage.

"You called…Oh my god!" The whitelighter croaked as he eyed the sight of the shambled hall. Then he ran to Chris' side. "What happened?"

"Question later. Heal now!" Chris said, shoving the girl into his whitelighter's hands and hugging the child to his own body at the same time.

Marcus' slid his hands into a pouch tied on his waist and took out a vial of purple liquid. Without any hesitation, he threw the potion onto the ground beside Taylor feet. The result was instantaneous as the little girl was enveloped in a purple glow. Wisps of dark particles oozed out through the openings on her head; her mouth, nostrils, ears and even through her eyes. The dark cloud drifted and spiralled around Taylor.

Marcus palm hovered over Taylor and streams of golden light came cascading down to meet the black cloud. With a slight hiss, the dark matter slunk away sideways to create a pathway for the light to reach Taylor.

The colours returned to the little girl's cheeks. As if satisfied, the light dimmed away and the dark cloud returned to swirl and cling over her body. A few seconds later, the purple glow died off and the cloud seeped back from whence they came.

A few seconds and abated breaths later, the red-headed child's eyes blinked open. She sat up and looked around, basking in all the attention of what seemed to be the castle's entire inhabitants.

Her gaze fell upon Marcus and a grin broke out her face. Before anyone could react, she flew off of Chris and in a space of a moment she was on top of Marcus' fallen figure, her hands wrapped tightly on the whitelighter's neck.

"Marcus!" she squealed.

Chris let out a sigh of relief and was echoed by the other residents. Chris needed his brother to be back. His nerves would not be able to take anymore abuse by the little imp. She had gone from one mischief to another, this one more bone-shaking than the last. Honestly, the girl would be the death of him and he muttered to her so.

"Ye're given tae such drama at times," the girl replied and continued her fawning over the petite whitelighter.

Marcus grinned, the girl was a handful. "So mind telling me what happened here?"

"Honestly? I don't know what's going on either," Chris shrugged. "I almost went to see Colin…"

He was interrupted by the shrill voice of his little niece.

"Och! Ye should have seen i'. This man just showed up here yelling for Papa. Ol' Joseph told him that Papa had gone off somewhere but he dinna believe him," the child re-told the story with great enthusiasm at the whitelighter, "I dinna like the man. He started tae yell again. He shouldna yell in someone else's home, right? Because i' is rude to yell, isn't i'? Right, Marcus? Right?"

Chris looked like he was about to say something but thought better of it. His little niece was already in that mode, which meant that he was unlikely to say anything in edge-wise. He gave a small sigh and gave a dramatic shrug.

Chris felt the whitelighter's gaze on him and he smiled, and mouthed, 'I can never win with her'.

"Yes," the eastern man chuckled, and revert his attention back to little red-head. "He shouldn't have yelled. It's terribly rude of him."

"And then ye ken what he did?" the little red-headed child gave a dramatic pause.

"What did he do?" Marcus complied, trying to please the child to continue on the story.

"He spat on poor old Joseph's face," Taylor whispered audibly, her gaze bored into the Asian man, waiting for the wanted reaction. She wasn't disappointed.

"He didn't."

"He did!" Taylor nodded her head vigorously. "And then do ye ken what he did?"

"I don't know but I have a feeling that it was not nice at the very least."

Marcus' guess wasn't wrong as the little urchin excitedly recounted a bloody tale. He wasn't exactly a stranger to violence, after all, he did die once, and it was not a pretty death. What upset the whitelighter was the fact that the girl had witnessed such acts. Though she did not look a bit unsettled…but that was not the point; such event was never for the eyes of a young audience.

"Justin had gone and brought Uncle Chris back from those creepy people at the 'Keep'. Och! Ye should have seen how everyone looked at what Uncle Chris was wearing." A mischievous glint lit up in the eyes of Chris' niece.

Marcus blinked, confused. He was actually surprised to find that he did not notice the bight colours immediately. Hell, it was blaringly obvious, his eyes was starting to itch. He didn't know whether to rub his eyes raw until he couldn't see anymore or laughed until his eyes were swollen with tears.

So he smiled instead. Lord, how his sides ached with repressed laughter. And by the looks of the others, he wasn't the only one. Most of them were trying to be discreet, turning to the sides but failing as their shoulders shook with mirth, some disguised their amusement with coughs and one or two had idiotic smiles plastered on their face. Taylor, however, had no reservation as she burst into fit of hysterical giggling on the floor.

"Now we ken why ye were so bent on forbidding anyone to disturb ye during yer visitations." The little girl baited.

Chris turned red with embarrassment; very much like a child being caught lying. Marcus' smile widened. By the elders, he had forgotten how much fun it was teasing his charge. Chris had always been so matured and it was rare to see Chris get flustered over something.

"I take it that you also made up that nonsensical rule that allows only you to visit Collin," the whitelighter's smirk widened, as Chris flushed crimson.

"I was…" Chris began but clamped his mouth shut just as fast, they were right; he had made up those ridiculous rules.

While it was true that Chris would parade around in the robes just to be with his brother, that didn't mean he couldn't try to limit the number of people witnessing him in such a distasteful outfit, did it? But that didn't matter now, since almost everyone had seen him in it.

So in the end, he just rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. He winced as his fingers brushed against the growing lump from the hit with the wall. But he quickly schooled expression. Good, nobody had noticed his pain.

"Is something wrong Chris?" Marcus' eyebrows creased with worry.

"Of course, I'm fine." Chris mustered a lopsided grin. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Now I really know that something is wrong. You always tilt your head to the left when you lie." Marcus gave his charge a frown. "Fess up, Chris. I saw you wincing just now when you touched your head."

There was a collective gasp all round with guilt etched on the residents' faces. They had clearly forgotten on Chris' mishap. Taylor was about to speak out but Chris beat her to it. Her voice muffled by his hands covering her mouth.

Chris sighed with relief; he managed to do it in time. He loved his niece to pieces but she did tend to paint an account with exaggerating details.

"It's nothing. I just bumped my head on the wall. (Taylor snorted at this) It doesn't hurt now. See?" Chris rambled, rubbing his head to prove his point.

"Really?" Marcus scrutinised, unconvinced. "Try to move your hand to the left. Don't play stupid. Move your hand to the left."

Chris gulped and touched the tender spot, recoiling on instinct. Chris cursed under his breath which sounded like 'damn' and 'observant whitelighters'.

Unfortunately, his hand (the one covering the mouth of a certain hybrid) jerked away upon his flinching and unleashing his secrets for all to hear. Chris could have sworn he could see the words gushing out of his niece's mouth in torrents.

Chris groaned as the story came pouring out from Taylor's mouth into Marcus' ear. And as he predicted, it was exaggeratingly recounted; he didn't remember moaning loud enough to do a dying man some justice and he certainly didn't remember cracking his head open. But from the looks of it, his whitelighter as the rest of his motley crew ate everything up (if Justin didn't stop nodding in agreement with his niece, Chris would see to it that he would out-moan the dying).

"Interesting retelling, won't you say so?" the whitelighter said in a chilly voice. "How, pray tell, did you ever manage to omit such a significant event?"

Chris shrugged. "It wasn't a major concern…And I wasn't hurt that badly; just a tiny, minor, little bump. As you can see I'm quite fine. Taylor's just over-embellishing what truly happened. As usual, if I may add. "

"Och," The fiery red imp gasped, looking utterly scandalous. "I dinna over-embellish nothing, I tell ye."

"Damn it, Chris. You, getting hurt IS a major concern. It's my concern! I wasn't appointed your whitelighter just for the hell of it."

Before he could even protest, Chris had his back towards Marcus. He could feel Marcus brushing through his hair.

"Really? And here I thought that you were here just for fun," Chris drawled before turning to her nephew. "I don't see my brains splattering all over the wall, so, yes, I'd say you did over-embellished on your story."

"I would ne'er…"

"Yes, you did." The lanky brunette cut her off. "And where on earth do you learn to all of those gory fabrications? And all those swear words? While we are on the matter, I forbid you to repeat any blasphemy that came about today or I'll wash that pretty little mouth of yours. Ouch! What are you trying to do back there? Tear my hair out? Whatever happens to compassion and gentleness in a whitelighter?"

"I'm sorry if I'm too angry to really care to be gentle." As if to prove his point, he poked again at the bump, eliciting another cry from Chris. "I don't think it's serious, your skin didn't break."

Chris didn't relish the idea of being treated like a fragile glass, and now that he knew that he wasn't hurt too badly, he couldn't help but felt glad.

He was also relieved to know that his whitelighter was calming down. Then his _delightful_ niece inadvertently riled their whitelighter again. "It's a miracle Uncle Chris came oot only wi' a bump on his 'ead. He could have split his skull open. Aye, he could have."

"It certainly sound like it," Justin agreed whole-heartedly. "That hit to the wall could have done him in. Aye, we're lucky he survived."

"They're exaggerating the story somewhat," Chris said quickly at the chilling look Marcus sent him. "I assure you I didn't hit the wall that hard. Taylor took a harder hit than I did."

"You could have been bleeding on the inside without anyone the wiser," Justin blurted out. "Or it could've been the same case like Taylor. You could probably be on your way to do a swooning fall now."

Taylor's eyes widened, and then nodded in agreement. "I' could be the same, ye ken." Then she proceeded to watch Chris closely, expecting him to fall at any moment.

"For the love of God," Chris groaned. "Cease this nonsense…"

"Uncle Chris, are you seeing more than one of anything?" Taylor asked. Then she turned to Justin and said, "Remember Amber? She was seeing two of everything before she keeled over."

Justin nodded vehemently and waved out two fingers in Chris' face. "How many fingers do you see, Master Chris?"

"The Source takes me! If you don't stop that, I'll break your fingers, chopped it off and feed the hounds with it."

"We're just concerned, Uncle Chris," Taylor pouted. "That hit could have done ye in. Whatever would we do if ye died?"

"Will you two quit trying to upset Marcus?" Chris said in exasperation. "I'm fine. And certainly in no danger of dying just yet."

"We're lucky if that hit only addled his brain."

"From his mule-headedness in refusing any healing, I'd say that feat has been accomplished," Marcus growled, poking at Chris' bump none the gentler.

Chris was about cry out in pain but grunted instead. He was already in hot waters with his Marcus; he needn't pour oil on the fire. The ache on his head was soon replaced by a warm tingling caressing his scalp. Without looking, he knew Marcus was working his magic.

"There, all patched up. The bruise won't be causing you anymore problems." The whitelighter said as soon as the healing lights diminished.

"You think we should check for other injuries?" Justin piped in. "He may got hurt elsewhere."

Chris found himself the object of everyone's scrutiny…again. This was getting to be ridiculous. Damn it all, he was fine. And damn Justin's mouth. Chris knew that the boy was only being nice but damn if he couldn't close his mouth at the most inopportune time.

Not so much as second later, Marcus was all over him again. Chris stifled an exasperated groan. How come when he was fussing over everyone, he was 'overreacting' but when Marcus was mothering him, everyone was quick to join him?

It was quite a scene to behold; Marcus bombarding the poor boy with questions with the determination of a mother bear while Justin giving off imaginary injuries and 'what ifs' that riled the whitelighter to the edge. Chris was trying to convince everyone, particularly his guardian, that he didn't sustain any other injuries. The rest were thankfully did not participate in any of it, save keeping an eye on the three back and forth.

"Take off your clothes," Marcus ordered. "I want to look to look at your back.

"Justin, aren't you suppose to be helping Cook prepare today's dinner?" Chris gave the boy a scorching glare that could melt the entire icecaps in the Artic. It was obvious that he blamed this new debacle on the young red-head. "Marcus, I am not going to take off my clothes."

"No, I don't. It's Judith's turn today," Justin remarked. "Besides, Cook can wait a little longer. You might still be injured. For all we know you may have broken a bone or two and putting up a brave front."

"Yes, you are! End of discussion. Now, take off your clothes," Marcus told him.

Justin snorted. "If I didn't know any better, this might sound a bit 'suggestive'." His laughter stop short when both Chris and Marcus glowered.

"I'm not going to take off my clothes," Chris repeated vehemently.

"Why on earth not?"

"For one thing, I'm quite fine." Chris glared; challenging anyone who dared to say otherwise. "As for the other reason, we have company."

Marcus found his first smile. And from the frown Chris was throwing his way, he deduced that his charge did not care for his change in attitude. Gods, his charge really was fine, if his disgruntled nature was any sign.

"We live here," Taylor told him. "So we're not company."

This time Chris really groaned out in exasperation. Marcus laughed.

"I think we embarrassed your Uncle right about now, don't you think? He'd be thinking twice about not telling us if he got hurt anywhere the next time."

"Very well, you are off the hook…for now." Taylor relented grudgingly.

"And for the record, almost everyone had a hand in raising you, so we won't blush when we you wearing nothing but the clothes you were born in." Marcus said, unable to resist a final jab.

"I dinna ken we came oot having dresses," Taylor muttered aloud.

"Alright then," Chris stood up briskly. "I see that our prisoner needs some attention. I'll let you handle this then Marcus." Chris walked away with a smirk evident on his face.

"Chris –"

"You brought it up so you explain." He laughed. "Have fun."

Author's note: An electro penny for your thought? As usual, do point out my mistakes.


End file.
